


A Spy's Promise

by Dominion_of_Dust1886



Category: The Night Manager (TV), The Night Manager - Jean Le Carré, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Author is working on it, Blood and Gore, English Countryside, Espionage, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hacking, Jonathan Pine is too hot, Post Night Manager, Sneakiness, Spies, Strained Relationships, Tom Hiddleston British Liferuiner, for Queen and country
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominion_of_Dust1886/pseuds/Dominion_of_Dust1886
Summary: Two years after the events of the Roper espionage, Jonathan Pine had enough of trying to return to civilian life. A new threat has captured the attention of not just Riverhouse, but the CIA and he is willing to serve once again. This time, however, with another beside him.This story is in conjunction with the Hob Nobs and Tea Facebook page.





	1. Chapter 1

Jonathan Pine couldn’t settle down after the events of the Roper espionage. Life of being a hotelier lost its appeal; he was a soldier, a warrior that needed some sort of battlefield to charge. He thought that he could get back into the rigorous lifestyle of being in ill fitting suits that the hotel supplied. Thought he could return false smiles to the guests (patrons he reminded himself), and be more than happy to see to their every whim. Thought that answering the calls from them in the middle of the night already in the throes of passion for room service would cure him of his past.  
It didn’t work.  
Nor did the relationship with Jed.  
So it wouldn’t have been much of a sudden surprise to Angela Burr if he didn’t show up at her office in the Riverhouse. Yet, here he was, nearly two years later, looking just about the same when they met in Switzerland.  
Well, she wasn’t pregnant now, nor were they in Switzerland. But it was very much a compelling dèjá vu to see him again.  
“Do you have a fascination with death, Pine?” Angela decided to go head long into her questions.  
Jonathan remained silent under the scrutinizing of Burr, still wondering what in the bloody hell he was here for. Truth be told, she really wasn’t expecting him.  
He really should be hiding away from the rest of the world. Jonathan Pine had served his time in the circumstances of dealing with Richard Roper. It was done.  
Yet, here he was, awaiting for more questions to be thrown his way no doubt.  
She sighed, “I guess things with Roper’s girl didn’t pan out so well?”  
Still no answer, but a give in Pine’s exterior gave her a clue. Never doubt that Angela Burr wouldn’t get into the thick of things.  
Resentment seemed to crossed his features. Or perhaps sadness? It was hard to read him, the perfect ex-spy he was.  
“Put me back in the field,” he stated.  
“You do have a death sentence.”  
“I don’t belong in the typical day to day lifestyle,” Pine expressed.  
“You’ve served Queen and country, Pine.” Burr tried to pacify, pulling out his file, “suffered plenty of injuries because of it-“ She began to read it “-broken eye socket, concussion, broken ribs, near castration, the list goes on.”  
“I can’t sit idly by painting another watercolor or sail another boat without seeing blood on my hands.”  
“Yet Roper _is ___very much out of our hands,” She stood, “even if I could make you unrecognizable, surgery to alter your features, it’s not possible. There are too many fingers in too many pies and Richard Onslaw Roper has many. He’d know as quick as a blink.”  
Roper, the man she had been trying to capture for years, was still missing from the networks she was casing. For all she knew, he was dead or near it, losing such large amounts of money of his own associates would keep him out of the spotlight.  
She dealt with this before, seen the suicidal tendencies were evident in soldiers whom were taken out of the field. PTSD at its finest.  
“It won’t bring her back, Jonathan,” Burr said kindly.  
He looked so defeated, starring resolutely ahead. She tapped her finger upon her desk.  
“I might have something,” Burr tugged a file out of her stack of papers, “security detail, information gathering, probably not too dangerous.”  
“For what?” Jonathan returned to his composed, dapper self, accepting the folder in his long fingered hands.  
“Surveillance with another agent from the United States CIA. Posing as a newly wed couple coming back from holiday and gaining intel on one of Roper’s associates.”  
He flipped it open, “which one?”  
“You’ll have to ask her, she has more details.”  
Jonathan hummed, flipping to the agent’s information.  
The picture of a dark haired woman looked out from the photograph on the first page. Jonathan prided himself on his attention to detail and this picture didn’t deter him in the least. Her hair was long, and slight wave that was parted neatly to the side. Her skin was pale, but not an unhealthy tone. A splattering of freckles dotted her petite nose and cheeks. Full lips held a slight curve of amusement that didn’t hide anything. Her eyes were a gray green that kept his attention longer than he wanted.  
Shaking his head, Johnathan quickly turned to the rest of her information.  
Celia Davidson. Thirty-one. Native of Chicago. Former Air Force officer. Gone into the CIA five years ago as part of intelligence. Marksman with a sniper rifle.  
Jonathan was impressed with her skills, finding that he probably didn’t need a partner, but wasn’t opposed to having her as one.  
“She’s arriving tomorrow at this address,” Burr pulled him out of his thoughts as she handed him a card of a flats address in Kent, “it’s probably best to get to know each other before the mission.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan didn’t waste time after the briefing with Burr, packing his meager things into a rucksack and renting a car under the name of Holland. The drive to Kent, specifically west of Canterbury, was dotted with clouds and rain, but he made it to the residence around noon.  
The flat was on the second floor of a tutor styled house that was converted into four separate flats. The one they were to accommodate overlooked a grown out yard that looked as if someone was trying to tame into a garden. Beyond the tired garden gates held a view of trees from Blean Woods National Nature Reserve. He noted how easily it would be to go through the reserve and possibly to the university of Kent itself to bridge and contact to Burr. Perhaps even gather more information about whom he and this Celia Davidson were casing.  
He carried a burner phone but hadn’t turned it on. Jonathan rather have it ready if things did go south.  
The interior was better than he expected. It was recently refurbished with new hardwood floors and the smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. A narrow living room lead off the entrance door with a large bank of windows that looked over the garden. A small kitchen led off to the right and a hallway lead to a bathroom as well as a corner bedroom. Basic furniture were the only other residents awaiting for him.  
“Right,” Jonathan spoke out loud and set his pack down on the couch, which he realized was a folding bed.  
A quick search gave way that plain tableware and kitchen items were readily available.  
With no other knowledge when his fellow agent would arrive, Jonathan pulled a piece of paper from his bag and wrote on it ‘Gone for supplies’. He wasn’t sure about what else to tell her, but supplied a extra bit of ‘London sent me’ as an extra precaution. He only hoped Riverhouse was able to contact her.  
-*-  
An hour later, Jonathan returned with two bags of the essential food stuffs and other things to make their stay comfortable. Although, two complete strangers sharing a flat before setting off for a questionable mission would have anyone think otherwise.  
He made quick work on putting away the food items and got together the rest in the bathroom. He fell into the meticulous routine of setting things up, then preparing for dinner.  
That in itself was one thing he never grew tired of. All those nights back at Meister’s cooking when the chef was gone, or on the yachts needing a cook before, fatefully, being saved by Roper’s doctors. Corky did enjoy the mussles after all.  
He began a simple bolegnese he was fond of, not at all phased at the lack of pasta to pair it with. He figured a hearty Italian garlic bread and a glass of wine would suffice. Jonathan was just placing the pot into the oven to cook when he heard the flat’s doorbell buzz insistently. Flinging the towel he was wiping his hands on over his shoulder, Jonathan made his way to the door.  
He was finally face to face with the agent herself, Celia Davidson.  
Jonathan remained silent as he assessed the woman just beyond the threshold of his door, much like she was to him. She was dressed in jeans and a warm jumper of crimson, her dark hair in stylish curls that framed her face. Light traces of makeup around her eyes highlighted the color they emitted.  
Jonathan spoke first, “Miss Davidson?”  
A gentle smile touched her features as she nodded, “You must be Mr. Pine.”  
“Yes,” he swept an arm to the interior of the flat, “we can continue inside, please come in.”  
She hitched up her bag, one nearly half her size and entered. He noted how she took stock of the rooms setup before facing him again.  
“Nice place,” Celia said, “much better than what I had back home.”  
He couldn’t help the little chuckle, “Yes. It was a surprise,” Jonathan pointed down the hallway, “the room down the hall is yours.”  
“You don’t have your own room?”  
“The couch is enough for me.”  
He watched her frown, her lips puckering slightly, “that’s not exactly fair, Mr. Pine-“  
“Jonathan,” he supplied, “if we are to be working together, a first name basis makes it more believable.”  
Her eyebrows ticked up slightly, “alright. Then I expect the same treatment of being called Celia.”  
Jonathan nodded, watching her head to her room lost in thought. This was going to be a lot harder than he expected. Sure, he worked with others of the opposite sex plenty of times in his military days. Lost plenty, loved few and seen others go on without knowing what happened to him. He worked alone for a long time and now Jonathan Pine had to work alongside someone.  
There was a reason for everything; Jonathan never had been religious but he felt it was true. He never gave any other thought in his actions, he knew it was the right thing to do. As he did with Sofie, as he did with Jed.  
_Blood drenching every surface. Everywhere was crimson. ___  
Jonathan shook his head, placing his hands on the counter and let his head droop over the sink. His fingers curled into fists as his eyes clenched shut.  
_Would they approve? ___He thought, looking into the brushed silver of the sink.  
The approaching steps of his roommate (he couldn’t think of a better word) were closing in as he gathered everything back behind his skin.  
He turned around to see Celia with a small tablet in hand, fingers flicking across the glass surface.  
“Alright,” She spoke, “might as well give you some of the details of our target,“ She placed the tablet on the table, beaconing Jonathan to look.  
From the glowing surface of the device, Jonathan gazed upon a grizzled man, probably in his late fifties. Deeply tanned skin, silver hair and dark eyes. The picture itself was a candid one as the man was shown three-quarter profile.  
“Tobias Moffett, age 63,” Celia began, “United States resident of New York and dual resident of Italy.  
“Moffett owns at least four businesses and organizations around the world. However, he also has profited in drug running and illegal arms under his businesses.”  
“What was he in?” Jonathan asked.  
“Brokerage firm, even was a lawyer back in his time.”  
Jonathan gave a low whistle.  
“Now he mostly has others covering for him since life is pretty much given to him.”  
“I’d say,” he looked up, “any idea where he is now?”  
She shook her head, “my lead has been doing intel since his yacht left the Bahamas a week ago. We are to intercept them once they get a signal on their location.”  
“Intercept?”  
She kept his gaze, “we are to get into their circle of trust as potential investors ourselves. Moffett loves bringing in new blood, especially if they can get him further into money. Especially ones that have the money to start with.”  
“So how do we have such money?”  
Miss Davidson gave him a tiny smirk, “that’s where I come in. How good are you with hacking?”  
“Abysmal. Give me a gun before a computer.”  
She chuckled, “I need to make us look the part of a happily married, uber rich couple wanting to get to know Moffett. He wouldn’t think twice about us. He doesn’t trust loners. The paranoia is at the back of his mind.”  
Jonathan nodded, knowing lone agents were spotted more times than not. He barely got out alive.  
“When does the mission start?” Jonathan queried for information.  
“That’s the tricky part; Moffett is using his yacht to charter to his destination, but we won’t know when and where he will dock. He doesn’t believe in leaving scheduled docking times, just shows up a few days in advance. Steadman and the rest of the team are watching for him.”  
“Joel Steadman, huh?” Jonathan watched her blink in surprise, “he’s a good man. One of the best in these missions.  
“So with a man like Moffett,” Jonathan leaned forward, “he could come into port in either a few weeks or mere days.”  
“Yeah, but this does give us time to set up our ‘funds’.”  
“Luckily, the University of Kent itself is not that far away. Up for a visit?”


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had yet to rise, prompting Jonathan to put on his running gear. The running took his mind away from the past, the pains of real life problems. Ghosts of family and enemies churning in a miasma behind his eyes, haunting him in the quiet of night. They never left, they were always there.  
Tying the laces, he heard Celia’s door open. Thinking she needed to use the facilities, Jonathan only was surprised to see her also in running gear of form fitting black pants and a turquoise hoodie. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail.  
“Well, good morning,” She spoke up upon noticing Jonathan.  
He smirked, “You run?”  
“Yeah. You ready?”  
He couldn’t help the surprised look as she headed out the door.  
Celia smirked over her shoulder as they left the flat, “try to keep up.”  
They began a fast walk, the only light coming from the streetlights and the occasional window of early risers. The air was cool with mist, a prelude to a decent day. After about twenty minutes, the pair began to run, Jonathan not bothering to slow his pace, being Celia kept up with him.  
There was no talk; conversation wasn’t needed. The only source of sound was their feet upon the pavement.  
Jonathan fell into a calm reflective trance of last night. Strange to think about it.  
_“Dinner is ready.”_  
_“Seriously?” Celia couldn’t keep back her surprise, “I’m with a chef? The heck were you when I was in college?”_  
_Jonathan chuckled, it seemed like forever to be so at ease with another, “I dabble in lots of things._ ”  
_“Like what?” She sat down, looking at him expectantly._  
_Jonathan thought it over as he too sat, wondering how much he should disclose to her. It wasn’t like it would compromise him should the mission go south, but was he willing to tell an agent every little detail on his life? Even his past that hadn’t quite left him yet?_  
_Celia, however, observed him from across the table, “I get it. It’s not my business.” She picked up a fork, “the mission is important, not knowing my partner.”_  
_Before he knew it, Jonathan was talking, “that’s not it. I’m sorry. Things-“ he looked to the side, “-things got…complicated that I’m still processing over.”_  
_She nodded, “no need to explain.”_  
_The silence returned, threatening the demons to return to the forefront._  
_“I paint,” Jonathan started lamely, causing Celia to look up, “watercolor, actually. The discipline to not load the paper with pigment and let the subject matter speak for itself. It keeps away the boredom.”_  
_She had a slight smile, a kindly one, “I’d hardly think you would be bored. Not with this I’m eating.” Her fork hovered over the bolegnese, “Seriously, Jonathan, this is spectacular. I can hardly make toast.”_  
_He only shrugged, digging into his own, “something I picked up. What about you?”_  
“Let’s check this out,” Celia pulled Jonathan out of his thoughts, realizing that they definitely ran for about two hours.  
He followed her into a cosp of trees that overlooked the university from the reserve. The overgrowth kept them well hidden from the road that ran parallel to the main entrance of the campus.  
She puffed out a breath, “okay. I need to get in there.”  
“Where, specifically?”  
“I’d say the dean’s office,” Celia adjusted her ponytail, “I need to establish some fake information about us, get others from my department to alter it so we are considered one of the elite on the social streams.”  
Jonathan nodded, “got it. Let’s go.” He headed back the way they came.  
“We’ll have to get ourselves out, pictures and things,” She said, following behind.  
Jonathan eyed her, his eyebrow quirking up.  
She gave a huff, “social media is the way of life now. If we don’t put ourselves into that spotlight with pictures or video of us doing typical media lovers crap, our cover won’t convince them.”  
“I have a place in mind,” Jonathan let it hang as they headed back.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who is reading this little story! I had my doubts that no one would be interested in it. It’s slow going, I know, but one must build up a plot from the ground up.


	4. Chapter 4

Riverhouse loomed silently in the London fog, a venerable castle of world intelligence. A place where shady dealings and wars were fought under the public eye.  
Angela Burr observed it with disdain and a little annoyance.  
They never had much respect for her, still haven’t to this day. Being not just a female, but one who didn’t roll over to the male species. The masculine stench of her superiors never failed to point it out whenever Angela was present.  
They, however, kept quiet when Richard Roper fell off the grid.  
One tiny victory for Angela Burr.  
Still, even that victory didn’t cement any sort of respect for her. At least for those higher uppity sods.  
_Can’t get ahead_ , she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee.  
Angela Burr grew up knowing that the business of governmental intelligence wasn’t typical for the ‘fairer’ sex. Even long before going to boarding school, little Angela knew that was her calling. She was smart, but extremely outspoken, much to the ire of her classmates and teachers alike. No one dared to debate against her since she gathered facts and information faster than most. Her own husband found out quickly after saying their ‘I do’s’.  
Still, she retained the stubborn northern Irish ancestry and kept her wits.  
A ping from her phone alerted her to an incoming call. She turned, leaning against the stone wall that kept the Thames in check.  
The number, while unknown to her, only confirmed Jonathan Pine was in need of her assistance.  
She answered it on the second ring, “yes?”  
_“It’s me,”_ he bluntly greeted her.  
“Of course it is,” Burr shot back, but with a smile on her face, “I take it you have met?”  
Angela decided to keep names out of their conversation lest they were being listened on. Yet before the mission began, code words were exchanged.  
_“Yes, was not anticipating how much we have to accomplish beforehand,”_ Jonathan sighed, _“we are looking for tickets for a game.”_  
‘Tickets’ were code for ‘passports’, “sure. Any certain game your looking for?”  
She could have sworn she heard Jonathan huff out a little laugh, _"I was hoping for your input. We were thinking of the match between America and Ireland.”_  
Angela made a note to get them relatable passports from both America and Ireland.  
_“Perhaps you can get in touch with your American friend too? He was such a huge help last time when we were in Cairo.”_  
_Joel?_ She thought, “sure, sure.”  
_“Thanks. It’s a great help,”_ another voice spoke beyond the reach of the phone, _“oh, and tell him he needs to send us the pictures; we would like to see them. We’ll probably have a couple more for him to review.”_  
“I’ll get on it,” She looked back at Riverhouse, “it’s good to hear from you.”  
A pause, then, _“I’ll keep in touch.”_  
She smiled as the line disconnected, her fingers easily returning the phone to it’s home screen. The smiling face of her daughter Emily looked up at her.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a short chapter, but it's getting there!   
> Angela Burr is such a fun character to write, given that the original story had her as a male character. (For those who want to know, it's Leonard Burr ;) )  
> So far I'm the only one writing this and while it's quite a task, I will do my best to update every week or two.


	5. Chapter 5

After a week in each others company, Jonathan and Celia were slowly becoming acclimated to one another’s ways. Both were avid in running in the morning, then building their cover by traveling about town and being seen by the locals.  
He learned more about his partner as she with him. Celia was a former dancer before an injury sidelined her.  
It was odd; Jonathan’s previous marriage was a serious one of six months and they parted because it didn’t work. With Jed, well, it wasn’t easy to accept it.  
Jonathan stared helplessly at Celia, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”  
It didn’t help matters as Celia giggled, fingers holding her burner phone lightly. He wasn’t anticipating them to do such silly things like catching him off guard when in the shower. Granted, he never had quite a relationship develop that way before.  
“You’re doing just fine!” Celia snapped another picture, “You mentioned having a few candid ones for safety sake.”  
Still, as he covered himself with a hastily tied towel, he smirked at the woman, “this is payback for me walking in on you changing.”  
She said nothing, turning away as he nudged the door shut.  
Jonathan chuckled; it wasn’t intentional. He apologized profusely to her in the wake of his unintended mistake of going into the bathroom to relieve himself during the night. He knew Celia to stay up late sending their pictures back to Langley for the CIA team to alter.  
Jonathan wasn’t expecting to see almost all of his partners naked back to him after a relaxing bath.  
_He could feel a blush of all things touch his face when she turned, arm holding up a towel to the roundness of her breast. Her dark hair in a tumble of loose curls falling down her shapely back._  
_In situations where he was dealing with a beautiful woman in a state of nakedness, Jonathan usually feigned ignorance for his intrusion. Sometimes using his well bred British gentleman mannerisms to soften any questions thrown his way._  
_Those mannerisms were not present this time as he kept staring._  
_Celia merely looked back at him, brushing back a strand of hair, “may I help you?”_  
_He gulped, “I…”_  
_A hint of a smile flitted over her face as she reached her arm out, causing the towel to slip a little further down. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door and swung it shut with a gentle click._  
He finished toweling himself off, leaning against the vanity.  
Why was he still lingering on such an embarrassing walk in on his partner? It’s not his first time seeing an attractive woman in a compelling and compromising position. He expected a scolding or at least a surprised yelp. A typical ‘get out’ accompanied by a thrown article.  
Celia didn’t.  
_What is it with her?_ He grit his teeth, feeling himself growing _hard_ at the thought of her.  
“Don’t, Pine,” he whispered to the humid air.  
But his hand was already drifting downward, cupping himself through the damp towel and he didn’t think of anything else.  
How could he think of anything else? She looked so inviting after her bath, and smelled of fragrant roses. She would not doubt be warm in all the right places. Smooth and silken in others. If only he woke sooner and caught more than just a toweled up version. He had only what he saw.  
Even his mind was torturing him, filling in the gaps of what Celia looked like with either Sofie or Jed.  
His eyes snapped open, his hand stopping and hitting the vanity’s marble surface enough to hurt. The physical pain centered Jonathan’s mind.  
-*-  
When Jonathan finally deemed himself capable to escape the bathroom without worrying of pronounced trousers, he quickly snagged himself a bottle of water from the fridge. Celia was currently conversing on her phone, definitely with Steadman as he could discern his baritone in the quiet of the room.  
Celia nodded, “yes. We will go in tonight.”  
She locked eyes with Jonathan, mouthing ‘we’re ready’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hate not having ideas then having to wait for them to manifest.
> 
> Anywhos, my mind is a little mushy cuz of the new trailer for Thor: Ragnarok is out and...well...parts of me are...*ahem*...occupied. oh, help me, Loki.


End file.
